


Between the Crosses

by swannkings



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Assault, Drug Use, F/M, Gang Violence, Girl Gang, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mistaken Identity, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02, Shoplifting, Smuggling, Women's Rights, Women's Suffrage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swannkings/pseuds/swannkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ada and Freddie fall into association with a well-to-do woman who has a shining opportunity for the Socialist couple in London, but a case of mistaken identity with a troubling outcome may send everything back into the hands of gangster Thomas Shelby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scene I

**Author's Note:**

> ETA June 5 2016: Make a note please, this fic is being reworked and rewritten. I'm sticking with the same plot, but decided to write this story in a different style and place emphasis on the romantic/friendship relationship between Tommy and my OC (who you haven't even met yet). I was out of town for a week and had an epiphany. Then I watched S3. It's all very coincidental.

> In Flanders fields the poppies blow  
>  Between the crosses, row on row,  
>  That mark our place; and in the sky  
>  The larks, still bravely singing, fly  
>  Scarce heard amid the guns below.
> 
>   
>  \- "In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae

* * *

God does not provide what is unnecessary, so proclaimed Mrs. Thorne. Whatever we are handed by the Lord is given to us out of love. Even the bad things must happen, for what is a Just world without Evil? What is a God without a Devil? Freddie Thorne had ascended to adolescence with the commanding hand of God on one shoulder, and the reclusive hoof of the Devil on the other. Yet, neither idol remained beside him upon return from the tunnels.

“Ada,” he spoke softly so not to wake their sleeping babe. “I’ve a way out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Ada yawned. No amount of grim lighting could hide the exhaustion under her eyes or the sluggish way she spoke.

Freddie lay beside her, stroking her arm. His years abroad had come from a longing of the past. A mixture of perfunctory notions and running the Midlands slums. A crooked life beaten straight by artillery fire. Freddie Thorne only wanted a good life, but it did not come whilst he dug trenches or charged wide-eyed German soldiers. He had seen what Evil could do to Man, and if Evil did exist then so did Justice.

“There’s a woman in London –”

“A woman?”

“A contact through the League. She can help me get a job. We can have a steady income, Ada, and a place much nicer and far away from here.”

Ada turned to face her husband, the bedsprings lightly creaking beneath her. Time as a Shelby had given Ada preoccupation with slightly finer things that peeling walls and sooty floorboards of a shared let could not smother. She admired her life with Freddie and Karl, as simply made of love and care for which she would trade nothing. And yet, a final break from the Blinders would make all the difference.

“Are you giving up on your cause, Mr. Thorne?”

His lips curved into a smile, “I wouldn’t go that far. People still need liberation and support, but there’s only so much to be done without standing of our own. Imagine one of those actors of yours turned out to be Red.”

Ada pressed her head to his bare chest, “Don’t get my hopes up, Freddie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. A special thanks to CidySmiley and AliyahKing for the encouragement. I know this chapter is much shorter than the original I posted back in December, but I'm hoping posting this way will give the overall structure a better flow. I would love to know what you think.


	2. Scene II

What does man desire most? Fame? Money? Power? They’re all one in the same. A little violence here and there; a bit of pressure in the right places. All of it – the red, the green, the shiny new silver – gives a man power. It’s a hold over the fearful and the advantageous. Having power comes with its costs: blood to be spilt, dreams to be spoilt, and love strongly tested. There is no easy way to the top. This is what Thomas Shelby knows.

There was still an ache in every stretch and pull of his shoulder, nothing ever quite felt like being shot, and yet he paid it never the mind as he reached for the swig of lingering whiskey on his nightstand. A single deep breath steadied his mind as the drunken haze lifted and more of the night came to memory. All of the drink and debauchery hadn’t spared him from the return of the clinking.

Every step on the soot packed cobble street sent a jolt up Tommy’s spine, but he kept his mind’s eye on the prize at the end of the lane. The Garrison Pub stood back against the wall of industry, pulling men in from around Small Heath at most hours of the day and night. A hulking beacon to the moths of poverty and debt – a place of congress for unique ambition. Upon entering, Tommy met with the familiar scent of tobacco and stale pints still clinging to the tabletops. The gangling Henry Fenton gave the bar top one last swipe of a rag as Tommy approached with cap in hand.

“Mornin’, Mr. Shelby,” his long face remained neutral while Tommy came to rest.

“Whiskey, please, Henry.” One blonde barmaid short made for stock morning conversation.

The bartender made quick work of Tommy’s request and Tommy made quick work of the whiskey. He leaned against the bar on his good arm, contemplating the razors in his cap. They shone in the dim light of the Garrison, reflecting back pieces of his hollowed profile; sharp, jagged little pieces that had cut into flesh on grand occasions now gleaming with uninhibited delight like the bared teeth of a madman. He swallowed another burn and turned full to the muted murmurs of the room.

A speckling of men sat around the beer-worn tables. Of course they had been watching the Blinder from the corners of their eyes and no doubt would be whispering his sinnings or praises come his departure. Recent events had been quite spectacular in regard to gossip, and women, in truth, did not have the monopoly there. Tommy turned back to Henry and placed a small payment on the bar top.

“Keep up the good job, Henry,” he said. And without turning as he pushed through the door, “And no singin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like what I've posted, please let me know. This is still very much a work in progress and I'd love to hear any thoughts you have on it.


	3. Scene III

Polly Gray sat mildly perusing a newly mailed home catalog amid the stench of cigarettes and one of the Blinder’s fresh cologne. Esme fluttered about the betting shop pooling the chips and encouraging men young and old to return for another glance at chance. Family may she be, Polly never helped the crease at her brow whenever Esme’s curved frame rallied the men. The simple little line only deepened as Tommy set foot through the door.

“It seems Death is at our doorstep,” Polly said, whipping the catalog over the desktop. “What kept you?”

Tommy glanced to the tally board as he lit a cigarette, drawing in the nicotine, “Death wanted breakfast.”

“Don’t be daft,” Polly’s skirt whirled as she stood. “We have a letter.”

He took another drag, “A letter? From who?”

Polly fixed him a steely stare, “Someone interested in partnership.”

Tommy noticed the twitch at her jaw line. The pair left behind noise of desperate men, and closed themselves off in the back office. Before he could speak, Polly’s gaze trapped the words behind his teeth. Her thoughts fought for dominance of her eyes and lips, tossing between what looked to be resentment and concern. She produced a cream colored envelope from between her collection of books.

“This was nailed to the door this morning.”

His tobacco stained fingers pulled a slip of paper into view. A ragged valley headed the scribbled note; sooty and wrinkled where morning dew dried. Death had been a looming presence for so long now Tommy had grown accustomed to the fear and risk of such a heavy burden. He clenched the cigarette between his teeth before letting the note back into his aunt’s hands.

“There’s nothing to worry, Pol.”

Polly’s face grew stern, her brows drawn down, one hand angled precariously on her hip.

“Of course there is,” she hissed, slapping the envelope against his chest. “Thomas Shelby. You may put your own life on the line all you wish, and may your brothers join you in stupidity, but so help me if you bring more trouble into this house. You end this once and for all.”

“Once and for all.” Tommy stepped back into the fray. “That’s only fairy tale.”

Polly watched her nephew closely, the line in her brow deepening and deepening. Tommy checked over Esme’s shoulder as she tallied the bets and cast a brotherly grin to young Finn before setting out the door. Her hand closed around the crumpled letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like this chapter or story as a whole, let me know. I would love to hear any critiques or thoughts you have on the style and structure of the story. I'm always looking to improve and would appreciate it so much.


End file.
